


An Even Exchange

by Lady_Felucia



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Star Wars Setting, Armitage Hux/Kylo Ren Fluff, Diary/Journal, Exchange Diary, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Friendship/Love, Gay Male Character, Getting to Know Each Other, I Ship It, I Will Go Down With This Ship, Kylux - Freeform, Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Romantic Fluff, Short One Shot, Young Armitage Hux, Young Ben Solo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-15
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-10-25 18:39:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17730527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Felucia/pseuds/Lady_Felucia
Summary: Ben Solo is not much one for writing, or making friends. Yet apparently, this is what his English teacher is forcing him to do. At the beginning of the year, the students are assigned an “exchange journal”, where they write messages back and forth to an assigned partner for the duration of a year.At first, Ben isn’t really receptive to what he considers a pointless exercise, but throughout the course of the year, his partner slowly changes his feelings about that ... and about other things.





	An Even Exchange

Ben Solo sighed, unscrewing the cap from his water bottle and taking a small sip. Last year, there had been strict rules about having ANY sorts of drinks in class, even something as simple as water. However, he had heard from several others that the “rules” for the advanced classes were quite a bit more lax than the regular ones, so he thought he’d take his chances.

During the summer, at his mother’s persistent insistence (nagging), Ben had gone into the school during its summer placement testing week, and had taken the exams that would determine whether he could move on to advanced classes for his junior year.

“You’re so smart, baby,” his mother had said to him, numerous times, “Why do you insist on keeping yourself at the lowest levels possible?”

Ben has just shrugged, not really knowing how to appropriately articulate his answer. He liked the “normal” classes; in them, someone with his intelligence shined above the rest of the herd. But if he went to the advanced classes, where everyone was above-average smart, well, it meant he’d have to work that much harder just to keep on the level.

Ben knew that his teachers wanted him to move up; several had sent letters to the house encouraging his parents to take him in for the tests before the fall semester started. But Ben had always been one step ahead, making sure that he was home around the time the mailman would make his appearance, so that he could intercept and hide any of these letters before his mom got to them.

Then, about a month before school started again, Ben’s luck ran out. Just when he thought he could relax a bit, he went to hang out with friends, and came back well after dark — and well after the mail, which, of course, just happened to have one of the dreaded letters in it.

So here he was, the first day of school, sitting in his first period advanced English class. He felt awkward and out of place; the majority of the students here had been in these classes since freshman year, and all somewhat knew each other.

He sighed again and tuned back in to the talk that the teacher, a young, fresh-faced Japanese man, was giving his class.

“ ... and part of our morning routine will consist of this,” he was saying, holding up a small black and white composition book from a stack of others. “There’s an even number of students in here, so everyone will have a partner, whom I have already randomly assigned. Each morning we will spend ten minutes on this exercise, which is designed to push you out of your comfort zones and get to know another person. The first five minutes, one person will write an entry to the other. Now, the entries can be of anything you wish, but please keep in mind that we’re in an academic setting, and I expect your entries to be reflective of such. Also bear in mind that I will be reading the journals each week, and marking the entries for grammar, spelling, and appropriate content. After the five minutes are up for the first person, they pass the journal off to their partner, who both responds to what their partner has written, as well as writes something of their own. Your days, your classes, likes and dislikes, hobbies, music, art — there’s no limit to the things you can share with one another. Now, when I call your names, please come up to receive your journal, and meet your partner.”

Ben could barely keep from rolling his eyes, as the teacher began to call out names. Is this the kind of shit they bothered with in advanced classes? Or was this guy just some kind of hippie weirdo? Ben and his partner were the last of the class called up.

“Ben Solo, and ... Armitage Hux.”

Ben stood up at the same time as a skinny, pale redhead that had been sitting several seats behind him. Ben knew Hux just the tiniest bit; his father and Hux’s father had belonged to the same bowling team when the boys were in grade school, and they would see each other when their mothers dragged them along to watch the tournament games. But beyond that, the two had had no extended interaction with each other. And the way Hux was looking at him now, his head cocked slightly to the side, made Ben wonder if Hux remembered those early days at all.

“Okay,” Mr. Kamitani said, smiling at the two of them, “I think Ben, you’ll start, and Armitage will be second.”

Ben nodded and went back to his seat, opening up the journal to the first page.

“Today, class, write down some facts about yourself, as a means of breaking the ice. Physical facts, hobbies, etcetera. First person has five minutes, and I’ll inform you when times up. Don’t forget to date your entries. And — go!”

 

August 22  
**My name is Benjamin Solo, but I prefer either Ben, or Solo. I have black hair and black eyes. I’m 6’3” tall. My hobby is fixing things; old things, electrical things, things that have been broken and don’t work right. Shop class is my favorite class. I used to live in the Ryloth apartment complex but right before last semester ended my mom got a new job and we moved to a house near the northern suburbs. She likes it because she’s always wanted a garden, but all it means to me is that now I have a lawn that I have to mow, and a driveway I’ll have to shovel in the winter. My favorite movie is Die Hard, my favorite color is red, my favorite food is pizza.**

Ben stopped, staring down at the journal with his brow furrowed. He glanced up at the clock; he still had two minutes to go. He honestly couldn’t think of a single other thing he wanted to share about himself. So he decided to bring up their brief shared past.

**By the way, when you and I were kids, we saw each other a few times. My dad and your dad were on the bowling team. They used to play every Saturday night at the old Hoth center. Do you remember? — Ben S.**

“Okay, time! Everyone please finish up your thoughts, and hand your journal to your partner. Tomorrow, you can read what they wrote, and continue the conversation from there.”

Ben closed the notebook and handed it to the person behind him, asking him to pass it to the redhead. As he sat quietly while Hux wrote out his reply, he stared into space, counting and re-counting the cracks in the wall on the side of the chalkboard, until the five minutes were up. When Mr. Kamitani called time, he went around the room collecting the notebooks, saying he would give them back tomorrow with any necessary corrections or comments. Once class really got underway, Ben opened up his notebook and textbook, licking the tip of his pen and preparing for the first advanced class of his life.

The next day, Mr. Kamitani gave the notebooks out to them, and Ben opened it up, to read what his partner had responded.

 

August 22  
_I don’t mean to dispute what you consider to be facts about you, but I’m fairly certain you’ve got your eye color incorrect. Truly black eyes are a nearly impossible genetic trait; instead, there are just varying degrees of brown. Likely your eyes are just a VERY dark brown. But anyway. My name is Armitage Hux, but I prefer just Hux. I have green eyes and red hair. I am 6’1”. I have poor eyesight so I wear either contacts or glasses, mostly contacts. I don’t really have any hobbies other than reading. Stephen King is my favorite author; during the summer, I started reading The Dark Tower series. I’m on the third book. I don’t really have a favorite color, either. I like butter and jam toast so I guess that’s my favorite food. To answer your question, yes, I remember the bowling league. We used to ask our moms for quarters to go to the arcade machines, and I always beat your score on Pac-man. — A.H._

 

Ben stared at the page, shaking his head. This guy — a bunch of boring stuff sandwiched in-between criticism and lies? And that Pac-man thing was definitely a lie; Ben had never lost a game to anyone, before. And certainly not to this uptight nerd. After staring at the words for a good few moments, Ben simply wrote:

August 23  
**Oh, my God. Mr. Kamitani, may I please be assigned a new partner? I can already tell that Hux will get on my nerves. — Ben S.**

 

When he finished writing that, instead of waiting for the time to pass the journal back to Hux, he went and handed it to Mr. Kamitani instead. The teacher read it over slowly, a bemused smile on his face, and then promptly tore the page of the journal out (Ben had started his entry on an opposite blank page, so it didn’t interfere with what the two boys had previously written. He quickly wrote out a response to Ben on the sheet of paper, then handed it to him, a more pronounced grin on his face. Ben took it back to his seat and read:

August 23  
Ben, no, you may not. The purpose of this exercise is to get to know someone that may not be the type of person you typically seek out. Also, you need to write just a bit more in your responses. Instead of making a comment about how Armitage’s entry bothered you, try writing about WHY. That’s how communication works.

-Mr. K.

 

Ben sighed and looked up at the clock. He still had two minutes to go. So he licked the tip of his pen and wrote:

August 23  
**Hux, I think that YOU might be mistaken with YOUR “facts”. I am fairly positive that I have never lost a game to you, or anyone else for that matter. I’m also positive that you’re incorrect about the black eyes thing. Have you never seen the movie Halloween, where Dr. Loomis gives an entire speech focused around Michael Myers’ eyes? How he had “the blackest eyes”? I don’t think something would be put in a mainstream movie like that unless it had some basis in truth. Also, toast is more like a snack, than an actual food. — Ben S.**

 

The rest of the week was very much like that, with the two of them arguing various points back and forth. Mr. Kamitani never commented on this on-going “conversation” other than to correct some spelling mistakes here and there. By the third week of this, a strange thing started to happen: Ben found himself looking forward to his five minutes at the beginning of class. He could tell by these entries that Hux was the kind of person who hated being disputed with, even over trivial things. It got to be so that Ben could recognize the soft, frustrated sigh that Hux would let out, each time he opened up their journal.

Other than English, Ben was doing surprisingly (to him) well in his other advanced classes, as well. The workload and the homework had drastically increased from last year, of course, but Ben wasn’t really having an issue keeping up with it. He had become friendly with several of the kids in his classes now, too, so he didn’t feel quite as lonely as he did before. Time was passing quickly, and before he knew it, it was almost time for fall break. And, of course, the journal entries kept coming.

—-

October 22  
**Halloween is coming up. Are you going to dress up as something and go trick or treating, or are you just going to sit at home and do nothing? I’m going as Saitama from One Punch Man. That’s an anime, by the way. Of course, I’ll have to wear a bald cap, but it’ll be worth it. And before you say it, I’m well-aware of how old I am, and no, I don’t think I’m TOO old for trick or treating. “You’re never too old to rock and roll, bitch.” ((I’m not calling him a bitch Mr. Kamitani, that’s an actual quote in its entirety.)) I took that from a book by YOUR favorite author, Hux. I bet you can’t tell me which book. —Ben S.**

 

October 22  
_It’s from the book IT. It’s said by Richie Tozier. Nice try, though. Believe it or not, I AM dressing up this year. Me and a few guys from my Humanities class volunteer at the youth group home on weekends, and we already have an assigned group of kids to take trick or treating. I WANT to dress up as Freddy Krueger, because I’ve got the perfect sweater for it, but most of the kids are really young and I don’t want to scare them. Also, believe it or it again, I HAVE seen One Punch Man, the english dubbed version. You’d make a better Sonic than Saitama; you don’t exactly have a ‘hero’ vibe going. —A.H._

 

“I thought you were going as Saitama?”

Ben shook his head, adjusting the final pieces of his costume in front of the mirror. He had to admit it, he thought he looked kinda good. The black bodysuit was a bit tight, but it looked really cool, when decked out with all the silver buckles and belts he had put on over it. He took a small tube of purple face-paint from the top of his dresser, setting to work painting the necessary shadows under his eyes. 

“I decided to go as Sonic instead,” Ben explainer now, carefully making up his face. “Makes more sense, plus I can wear all black.”

A small sigh came from his bed, and Ben smiled. Phasma had been a really good friend of his since middle school, when the two used to see each other in detention all the time over fighting. The two were going trick or treating tonight, and Phasma was impatiently waiting on Ben to finish up with his costume.

“Are those real?”, she asked, gesturing to the twin swords that were strapped to his belt.

“Nah. Mom would have a heart attack. They’re plastic.”

He finished with the makeup effects, and turned, looking at Phasma. She didn’t look half-bad herself; she had chosen to dress up as Jessica Rabbit, from _Who Framed Roger Rabbit?_ She was wearing a red wig that had been carefully styled to fall over one eye, elbow-length purple gloves, and she had on a sparkling red dress. A tight one. VERY tight, in fact.

“Can you breathe in that thing?”, he asked, as they headed down the stairs. 

“Just barely,” she replied, smirking. “It’s not the breathing I’m so much worried about, as my ‘boobs’ falling out while I’m walking.”

Ben laughed aloud at that, shaking his head. Of course, a huge part of a Jessica Rabbit costume was her, well, _huge_ ‘endowments’, and Phasma had taken care of this by halving two cantaloupes and duct-tape-wrapping then around her actual chest. 

“You better stick close to me,” he said, as they made their way out the door and into the dark, “Or some creepy dude’ll probably kidnap you.”

Outside, the night was electric. It was the end of October but unseasonably warm, which was lovely; last year it had been so cold they couldn’t stand to be out for more than thirty minutes. Kids, teens and adults were milling about the streets, stopping at the decorated houses for candy. Ghosts, witches, zombies, professional wrestlers, horror icons, tb characters ... there was something new and interesting to see at every turn. Ben and Phasma made a killing before they even reached the end of the street, and they had to run back to Ben’s house, leave their candy, and get fresh bags to continue their journey.

By the time they made their way to the ‘rich’ (aka full sized candy bar) people, Ben was tired. He was thinking of telling Phasma he wanted to call it a night soon, when the sound of a small child crying caught his attention. He looked, and was surprised to see Hux, of all people, with his arms wrapped around the child in question, standing under the street light. 

Ben had to smile; he wouldn’t have thought Hux to be the kind of person to put effort into a Halloween costume. But this ...

His red hair had been tousled and slightly spiked. There were thin black dots, likely made by a marker, all around his cheeks, obviously meant to represent freckles. He was wearing a red, blue and green striped shirt underneath a pair of blue overalls, with the words “Good Guy” written in red across the front pocket. Bright red shoes were on his feet, and a long, plastic knife was sticking out of his back pocket.

_He didn’t want to go as Freddy Krueger because he thought it’d scare the kids he’s taking trick or treating; but he thought Chucky wasn’t scary, too? Really?_

“Hey,” he said, as he and Phasma approached. “What’s the matter with that kid?”

Before Hux could answer, the child, a little girl around 5-6 years old in a black dress and pointy witches hat, looked up at him tearfully and said, “Scary! The house eated them up!”

“W-What?”

Hux pointed to a house a few yards away, and explained, “The rest of my group went into that house over there. It’s a haunted house, where they give you candy at the end. But Lydia didn’t want to go in, she thought it was scary. And now she thinks the house ‘ate’ them, because they haven’t come back out yet.”

Ben stifled a chuckle and knelt beside the girl. “It’s okay, um, Lydia. Places like that are just make-believe. The house didn’t eat your friends, they’ll be back out before you know it.”

Sure enough, at that moment, 4 other kids ran up to the little group, jumping up and down excitedly. They all began talking at once, telling Hux about the features of the house and showing him the candy they brought. Hux smiled and listened to each child attentively, and Ben was surprised again, that someone like Hux would actually be good with children.

And then a larger group of maybe 12 kids or more cane crowding around, too.

What the hell—? Did Hux really agree to chaperone THIS many kids, by himself?

As if reading his mind. Hux turned to him and said, “Two of the chaperones backed out, so my group is a little bigger than normal.”

He began to count heads, to see that everyone was there. Ben frowned. The two of them weren’t exactly friends, but Ben felt bad for the redhead; he was clearly overwhelmed, and in need of some help. Would it be very out of place for him, to —

“We could help you,” Phasma volunteered, before Ben could say anything at all. Both boys looked at her in surprise, and Ben said, sheepishly, “Oh, um, Hux, this is Phasma. And apparently she thinks we should help you.”

“I’d really appreciate that,” Hux said, speaking to Phasma. “But I don’t want to take up your time like —“

“I want to go with the pretty one!”, a boys cry interrupted him, making Phasma blush. “Pretty one! Pretty one!”, several others took up the cry, grouping themselves around the beaming girl.

“Looks like it’s not up to ME,” she said, smiling. “Okay, I’ve got, let’s see, 6 in my group. You guys split up the rest between you. This neighborhood is about 3 blocks deep. If we start on opposite sides and work our way around, we’ll hit every house. Then we’ll all meet back here under this light when we’re done. Got it?”

Ben grinned, at the effortless way Phasma took control. Looking at Hux, he could tell that he was impressed, too.

So they did as Phasma said, each one taking their group around to the houses.  
When they met up again, Hux did a head count and name call to make sure all of the kids were there, and not a moment too soon; a large black community center van was pulling up, and the kids ran towards it, excited to get home and eat their loot.

“I have to go with them,” Hux said, “But thank you both so much!”

Phasma smiled. “No problem. It was nice to meet you, Hux.”

“You too,” he told her. Then he looked at Ben, grinning, and said, “I guess this is something to write about in our diary on Monday, huh? Oh, before I forget: you dressing up like Sonic was a GREAT idea. Whoever gave you that idea is a friggin’ genius. ” And with that, he was gone.

“Diary?”, Phasma asked when they were walking away, her eyebrow raised.

“I’ll explain later,” Ben said, chuckling. “For now, lets get back home and eat some of this candy. I’m worn out.”

—-

The months flew steadily by, Christmas came and went, and before Ben knew it, the semester was a mere few months from being over. He was proud of himself; his midterms had been excellent, and he was proving to himself that he belonged in the advanced class after all.

“I told you so!”, his mother said to him, beaming at her son’s progress report. “You need to drop doubting yourself and realize that you can do anything, and you shouldn’t be afraid to take chances, baby,” she cooed, kissing his forehead. 

“You know ... the same applies to you,” he’d answered back, sitting down at the table to do his homework. 

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, it’s almost 5:30. About the time _he_ calls, every night. Why don’t you pick it up tonight, and talk to him? ‘Take a chance’ and all.”

Ben’s mother sighed and absently ruffled her son’s hair, looking out the window. She knew he was trying to help, but this wasn’t a conversation she wanted to have just then.

“What do you want for dinner?”, she asked, changing the subject. I’ve got ground beef and sausage, so I could make spaghetti. Or there’s still a bit of leftover chicken in ...”

 

February 14  
**Roses are red**  
**Violets are blue**  
**This day sucks**

**Do you want to know why I wrote that, but left out a 4th, rhyming line? Because I know that (not so) deep down inside, it’ll drive you to the brink of madness. That your weirdness won’t allow that poem to just sit there uncompleted. When this journal comes to you, I know you’ll sit there the entire 5 minutes staring at the poem, sweating, and trying to think of a rhyme for “blue”. And you won’t want to use the word “too” because that would be TOO easy, wouldn’t it? You’ll also want to change the third line because the last word, “sucks”, doesn’t rhyme with “red”.  
Aren’t I a caring person, to give you something constructive to do on a holiday that many find depressing? Oh don’t worry about thanking me, your smiling face is thanks enough. — Ben S.**

 

February 14  
_Your attempts to goad me into another childish argument are, unfortunately, just that: childish. Very flattering that you wrote me a(n)(albeit incomplete) poem on V-day. I appreciate the sentiment but sorry, I don’t reciprocate the feeling. And anyway, shouldn’t you be showing some PDA or something with that girlfriend of yours? Pretty, smart, and good with kids. You’d better be careful, I’ve seen a LOT of other guys eyeing her when she walks by. Somehow I don’t believe that your “charm” is enough to keep her from ditching you, should a better opportunity arise elsewhere. —A.H._

 

February 15  
**Girlfriend? Really? Phasma is more like a sister, dude. I don’t know if you’ve never heard of the idea that boys and girls can be just friends, but, trust me, it’s possible. Speaking of girlfriends, though; why have I never seen YOU with one? With that red hair and that sour attitude, you should be beating the chicks off with a stick. (Not literally; please don’t have a heart attack Mr. Kamitani, it’s just a figure of speech). If you need some dating tips, let me know. I’m pretty sure that I was Casanova in another life. —Ben S.**

 

February 15  
_Casanova? Doubt it. But, a serious question for you: do you believe in things like that? Other lives, reincarnation, that kind of thing? I’m not sure if I do or not. I’m not sure I believe in anything, really. My dad is Catholic but we haven’t been to church in years. I just remember so much talk of hell. I don’t feel like I could really believe in a religion (or a God) that supposedly sends you to hell over so many things, even the things about yourself that you can’t help. It doesn’t seem fair. — A.H._

February 18  
**That’s a good question. I don’t know if I believe in anything, either. Maybe I’ll start my own ‘religion’, but instead of disciples or followers like Jesus had, I’ll have knights. I’ll call them The Knights of Ben. I’m not too clear on the rules yet, except maybe everyone has to wear black all the time. Maybe everyone will wear a mask, too, like a mask they made themselves. And part of the ‘rites of passage’ will be the creation of your mask, like the creation of your own identity. Oh my God that sounds good. I think I just had a creative breakthrough. Mr. Kamitani, I think this deserves extra credit or an automatic A on the next test, or something. — Ben S.**

February 18  
_You’re exactly the kind of person who would have been burned at the stake for heresy in another life. Making a mask to conceal your identity seems like a cowardly thing to do, in my humble opinion. Not to mention really uncomfortable, if you’re wearing this in the heat. But go ahead, start up your religion the way you want it. I’m sure you’ll gain lots of ‘knights’/followers from other weirdos like you. Is this the kind of religion where you strike down all who oppose you? If so, you need a decent army in place. I could help you with that, should it ever come to be. Let me know; I’m great at organizing things. —A.H._

—-

April 1  
_It’s April Fools day. It’s meant to be for pranks and such but the idea is silly and juvenile to me. What benefit is it to trick another person for the sake of a few seconds of laughter? Ridiculous, and unnecessary. It’s also a testimony to the stupidity of the one being tricked; that they could manage to be fooled on a day when the fooling should be expected. —A.H._

April 1  
**I’m going to guess that the only reason you say such bad things about April Fool’s Day is because you’ve had a prank pulled on you in the past. Either that, or you’re not smart enough to pull a prank on someone else. Honestly, you might be the most depressing, negative-thinking person in the world. There’s only ONE MONTH of school left; lighten up, dude. And what’s with all the big words all the time? I get you’re trying to suck up to the teacher (sorry Mr. Kamitani), but don’t forget that I read this too, you know. You could at least TRY not to bore me to death, couldn’t you? —Ben S.**

—-

“Talk to me.”

The words came in a hushed, frantic-sounding whisper, and it caused Hux to pull back a bit. It was a Friday afternoon, and he had been walking down the hallway that connected to the P.E. rooms, as he had forgotten something in his locker. As he rounded the corner, who should he see but Ben, being unceremoniously pushed from the changing room by his fellow classmates. He was wearing a pair of the school-issued swim trunks, and his hair, face and bare chest were still damp with the water from the pool.

“W-What?”

“Talk to me! Or at least pretend like you’re talking to me!”

“Why should —“

At that moment, a girl came out of the opposite door from the boys’ changing room, and Ben, still facing Hux, said, overly loud,

“Yeah so that’s how the game ended. I can’t believe you didn’t watch it!”

Hux glanced over Ben’s shoulder, and saw that the girl had frozen when she saw Ben speaking with someone. He couldn’t help a little grin, as he replied, also overly-loud,

“No, I’m not interested in stuff like that. I’d rather spend my time banging my girlfriend.”

Ben’s eyes widened in surprise, and behind them, the girl turned quickly on her heel and walked back into the changing room, her face, neck, and shoulders having turned red in a bright blush.

“Okay, she’s gone, you idiot,” Hux told him, skirting around him to continue to his locker. “What the hell was that? Is she your bully or something?”

Ben caught up to him and walked alongside him, seeming oblivious to the stares his half-naked body was getting.

“I thought you didn’t have a girlfriend?”, he asked, and Hux couldnt help but notice the weird, almost-anxious tone that his voice had picked up. By now they had reached his locker and Hux began slowly putting in the combination.

“I don’t. It’s called acting, genius.”

He pulled out his book and, crouching down, shoved it into his opened backpack, which was balanced between his knees. When he straightened back up he shut the door and asked,

“Seriously, what WAS that?”

Ben sighed, and Hux noted with amusement that he had picked up a blush as well, as he explained:

“She, um, that girl ... she likes me, I guess. But she’s like, shy, and can only talk to me when I’m alone. The guys in the locker room knew that she wanted to talk today, so they kicked me out and locked the doors. I ... I guess, she wants to try and ask me out, or something.”

“And ... you don’t want that?”

Ben shook his head.

“Why not?”

“Because she’s not really my type, I guess. And I don’t want her to ask me out and then I have to say no, I figure that’ll make me more of a douche than if I just ignore her.”

They had reached the lockers again, and the doors to both were now open. Boys and girls came flooding out, hurrying to their next classes.

“You know, you’re confusing. First you say you and Phasma ‘just friends’, and now that other pretty girl just ‘isn’t your type’. What IS your type?”

“Maybe I don’t have one, Huxtable. Maybe I’m one of those forever alone kinda guys, and I’ll just end up living in the mountains somewhere with a beard and a bunch of dogs.”

“Switch that to cats, and it’d be an ideal life,” Hux said, then turned, walking away. Ben reaches out and grabbed his shoulder, forcing Hux to turn back.

“Hey, wait a sec!”

“What?”

“What are you doing right now?”

“Getting ready to go home, obviously,” Hux replied, sounding annoyed as he shook off Ben’s hand. “Why?”

“Me and Phasma are gonna catch the bus and go to the movies to see Blood Spatter 6: The Reckoning. Our one friend was gonna come with but she had to go home. We have an extra ticket; you wanna come?”

“Blood Spatter 6? Really?”

“Oh, come ON, Hux! Take the stick out of your ass and come with. It’ll be fun, I’ll even buy you some candy.”

Hux couldn’t help but smile at that. “Okay, Solo. Make it gummy bears and you have a deal.”

“Cool! Ok wait here while I change,” Ben said, ducking into the locker room.

—

The theater was blissfully empty, as one would expect of an early afternoon. Ben always preferred to come at this time, when less people were present to get on his nerves. He knew that in a few hours the place would be packed and annoying. Phasma went to the restrooms while Ben stood in line for popcorn and candy.

“Here,” he said, handing Hux the package of gummy bears he’d promised him. “Sugary goodness for rotting your teeth.”

Before Hux could respond, a voice drawled from behind them,

“Funny seeing you here.”

Hux’s entire face blanched, and he turned around slowly. Behind him was a boy, slightly shorter than Hux himself, with wavy brown hair. 

“Oh, h-hey Poe,” Hux said, his voice wavering just a bit. “Uh, this is um, my friend Ben.”

Poe stuck out his hand, and Ben took it, somewhat confused. “Nice to meet you. You’re up on the AP floor, right?”

“Yeah.”

“That must be where you met Hux.”

“Yeah?”

Poe smiled, and Ben noted with some amusement that Hux had started to sweat.

“I’m here with my friend to see Arc Precinct. What movie are you guys here to see?”

“Blood Splatter 6.”

“Really?”, Poe asked, raising an eyebrow and training his gaze back on Hux. “That’s weird; Hux never used to like horror movies. He’s more the romance type.”

“Yeah, well, things change. We gotta go. See ya,” Hux said, and he took hold of Ben’s sleeve and practically yanked him away.

When they were a far enough distance (outside of the Ladies room to wait on Phasma), Ben asked, curiously,

“What the hell was THAT?”

“It ... nothing.”

“That didn’t seem like nothing. Do you owe that dude money or something?”

“No! It’s ... he ... I ...”

At that moment Phasma came back out, smiling. “Sorry that took so long; it took forever to find a toilet that wasn’t completely gross.”

Ben looked at Hux once more, and, seeing the tense expression on his face, decided to drop his line of questioning. Once the movie started rolling, Hux’s spirits seemed to pick up. Phasma sat in-between them, and would lean over every so often to whisper something to one or both of them about the film.

Ben tried telling himself to mind his own business about the strange incident between Hux and the other boy, but his brain just wouldn’t leave him alone. So Monday morning, when the class was handed the journals, Ben licked the tip of his pen and wrote:

April 9  
**Okay so I’m not trying to get in your business, but I’ve been dying to ask: seriously, what was up with you and that guy? He seemed kind of aggressive towards you, or hurt, or something. You asked me if that girl by the lockers was my bully; is that guy yours? Because, in all seriousness, if he IS, I can teach you some self-defense moves. My uncle had a karate academy when I was a kid, and I studied under him for four years, so I know some stuff. Of course, if I’m blowing things way out of proportion, you’re within your rights to tell me to mind my own business. —Ben S.**

April 9  
_Thank you for the offer, but no. Poe is not my bully. He’s my ex boyfriend. I don’t know how you’ll take that, but it’s the truth. I broke up with him right before junior year started, and he didn’t take it very well. Then he saw me with you at the theater, and I think he thought that WE were together. Hilarious, right? But ok, let’s change the topic. Finals are coming up, huh? I’m ready for all of them except math. I hate math. I’ll be grateful to get a C on that one. Pretty sad standards for an AP student, I know. —A.H._

 

Ben read that over the next morning with utter surprise. He would never have suspected that something like that was the situation between Hux and the boy. For that matter, he never suspected that Hux could be into ANYBODY, girl or boy. He was so uptight; Ben had spent this past YEAR getting to know him, and the redhead still seemed hesitant to really let go around him.

 

April 10  
**That’s the most interesting thing you’ve written all year, Hux. I feel like you’re about to be really disappointed, because you EXPECT me to be uncomfortable or something with what you told me. Well, sorry, but I’m not. There are a million other things I can judge you on, besides who or what you like. Things like, your red hair. Or your horrible taste in music. Or the fact that you jumped like ten times during the movie, which wasn’t even THAT scary, by the way. Yes I’m ready for finals too. Math is actually one of my better subjects; if you need someone to tutor you, my rate is $500/hr plus snacks. —Ben S.**

—-

Monday morning, and two weeks left of class. Ben was a bit bored; all of the classes had spent the majority of last week, as well as planning on using the majority of this upcoming week, reviewing the material for next week’s finals. And if it was one thing Ben hated, it was having to go back over something he felt he got right the first time.

With a sigh, he stared blankly into space, chewing up the cap on his pen. Hux had the journal first this morning, and Ben wondered what he could be writing about. Because the class was going to spend today watching a short video, Mr. Kamitani had increased the writing time to ten minutes per person, rather than five.

When time was up, Ben took the journal and opened it up to Hux’s entry.

 

May 10  
_I almost stayed home from school today. Not because I’m sick, but today is an anniversary day to me. Not romantic, though; it was on this day 4 years ago that my mom died. She had brain cancer. She hung on for a long time before she went. I’m not one who’s prone to crying, but sometimes this day makes me tired. It’s inappropriate to fall asleep at your desk, although I see YOU do it all the time. Anyway my dad’s one of those people who think you need to just get over something, as quick as possible. The day of the funeral, after the burial, he asked me if I wanted to go and see his therapist. I said No, I’m fine. And that was it. We didn’t talk about it ever, after that. He gave her clothes away to Goodwill and put her jewelry and stuff like that into boxes, and put them in the attic. It’s probably smart that way; if you don’t see something you’re not thinking of it all the time, and it’s not bothering you. It’s scary, but sometimes now I can’t even remember what her voice sounded like. We have an old VHS tape of my 7th birthday party, though, so I put that on to hear her. The quality is scratchy but the audio is decent, which is what I want, so I guess it works out. — A.H._

 

May 10  
**That’s shitty to hear about your mom. I would say “I’m sorry”, but I hate that. I hate when people say that, because it makes no sense to me. What are you sorry for? And being sorry doesn’t bring the person back to life, does it? Ok I just read that back and it sounded way too harsh. But I get you, Hux. My dad died two years ago, like a week before Christmas. I don’t know if you knew that or not, because I never told anyone that. My dad didn’t die like your mom, though; it didn’t take a long time. It was quick. He did long-distance driving for Fed-Ex, and the roads were bad, and he went into a pole, then a ditch. He was probably drinking; he always drank. You wanna know something funny? When mom told me, I started to laugh. She was crying but I started to giggle and then I couldn’t stop. All I could think was, a bunch of kids probably won’t believe in Santa anymore, because I thought the truck he was driving probably had a LOT of Christmas presents on it, since the timing was so close and all. My moms not like your dad, she can’t just get over things, she takes forever to let things go. There’s this guy, Lando, who was my mom and dad’s friend, and he’s been reaching out to her a lot lately. He really liked my mom when they were all in college. He’ll call every night at the same time to try and talk to her. Last week, I told her that she needed to really give him a shot, and let the past with dad die, but she started to cry. Then I told her that dad isn’t gonna come back, so she may as well be with someone else, and she cried so hard she had to go lay down. Does that make me mean? I hope not. Because I love my mom and it bothers me to see her so lonely, but so afraid to put herself out there. Sometimes you just need to take chances on stuff, right? — Ben S.**

—-

“Hey.”

Ben looked up in surprise. It was after school a few days later, and Ben was cleaning out his locker, as he didn’t think he’d need to visit it any more past this week. Next week was Finals, and then the semester would be over.

He was in a good mood as he stood there, whistling softly and shoving a year’s worth of papers and books into his backpack. Last night, Lando had come over, and, after some talking, persuaded Leia and Ben to accompany him to a local steakhouse.

Ben had quietly eaten his food and watched the two of them, laughing and talking. It was the most relaxed his mother had looked in months, and certainly the most he had seen her smile.

Towards the end of the meal she had excused herself to the restroom, leaving Ben and Lando alone at the table. After some awkward small talk, Lando sat up straight, and looked Ben in the eye.

“Ben. Here’s the thing. I ... I truly like your mother. To be frank, I’ve never quite gotten over her from our college days. And, this may be hard for you to hear, but I’ve also never really stopped regretting that I didn’t fight your father harder for her hand.”

Ben chuckled and nodded, fiddling with his water glass. “Speak your mind, and don’t worry about my reaction, Okay?”

“Ah, but that’s the thing, Ben. I DO worry about your reaction. I know how important you and your mother are to each other. I also know she values your opinion above all others. I guess what I’m really asking is, well, I’d like your permission to ‘court’ her. To show up at your house more often, to take her out, to bring her roses and candy, that kind of thing.”

Ben say quietly for a few moments, taking that all in.

“No. I don’t approve.”

“You don’t?”

Grinning, Ben elaborated, “I don’t approve of the roses thing. She doesn’t like roses. Her favorite flowers are daisies. But other than that, yeah, you’ve got my permission.”

Lando barked out a laugh of relief, shaking his head. “Okay. Good. Thank you! Shake on it?”, he asked, extending his hand.

As Ben took it, he said, “Just be warned, Lando; if you hurt her in ANY kind of way, emotionally, physically, or otherwise, nothing in this universe would prevent me from finding you and destroying you.”

“I ... I understand.”

“What are you guys talking about?”

Both of them looked up. Leia had returned to the table, a nervous smile on her face as she walked up to the two of them, seemingly so deep in a serious conversation.

“Nothing, mom,” Ben said, sitting back and taking a sip of his water. “Just betting with Lando on tonight’s basketball game. I’ve asked him to come over after this and watch it with me, if that’s ok.”

Both Lando and Leia looked at Ben in surprise, especially Lando. And then Leia smiled and said, “Of course. You both can be the taste-testers for the cheesecake I’m making for my work potluck tomorrow.”

By the end of that evening, all of them had full stomachs ... and Lando and Leia had a date for the next night.

Ben was standing at his locker now, thinking of all that, when Ben came up and surprised him.

“Hey. What’s up?”

“I, uh, well, I was just passing by and ... I, uh, do you have a few minutes to talk?”

 _Why is he acting so nervous?_ , Ben wondered, as he continued cleaning his locker. Out-loud, he said, casually,

“Talk. I’m listening.”

“Okay, well, the thing is, I’ve been thinking a lot about what you wrote in the journal a few days ago. Especially that very last part.”

“Oh?”, Ben replied, furrowing his brow, “Which part?”

“You said, ‘sometimes you just need to take chances on stuff’.” Here Hux pauses, and Ben noticed that his face turned extremely red.

“O-okay?”

“Okay. Um, well, Ben ... for a while now ... I’ve ...”

Hux was starting to stutter, and Ben shut his locker and faced him, looking (and feeling) utterly confused.

“Is something wrong?”

“No! Well, yeah, kind of. Um ... Ben ... I’m going to take a chance here ... would you go to the movies with me? Tomorrow?”

Ben slung his backpack over his shoulder, looking exasperated. “Is this why you look like you’re about to have a heart attack? You need someone to go to the movies with? Sure, fine.”

He pulled out a little slip of paper and wrote down his number on it, then handed it to Hux.

“Text me tomorrow, we’ll set it up then, okay?”, he asked, before turning and walking away.

Hux caught up to him, grabbing his arm and stopping him.

“No! That’s not what I meant!”

“You DON’T want to go see a movie?”

“I do! But ... um ... I guess ... Ben, I want you to go to the movies with me, like ... like a date. I guess this is me, asking you out.”

Ben was so surprised that his jaw dropped, and he couldn’t think of anything to say for a long while. Hux noticed his shock and began to feel panic.

“Shit, I’m sorry! It’s just ... I’ve kinda liked you for a while, and —“

“Yes.”

“Y-yes?”

“Yes,” Ben repeated, a smile on his face. “Yes, I’ll go out with you. In fact, don’t text me tomorrow, text me tonight. No, CALL me tonight. We can talk. Okay?”

“Okay!”, Hux exclaimed excitedly, looking happier than Ben had ever seen him. The redhead surprised Ben further when he threw both arms around him in a warm hug. Ben hugged him back, marveling at how Hux’s arms around him felt like an absolutely perfect fit.

“Okay,” he said, when they separated. “I’ll be looking forward to your call.”

Ben smiled to himself, leaning against his locker as he watched Hux walk away, floating on a cloud of utter euphoria.

Monday’s journal entry was going to be the last one of the class ... and Ben guessed that he and Hux would sure have something interesting to write about.


End file.
